Mafia Wars: His Sweet Angel

Seeing her again

“Daddyyyy!!” Her screams increase with every thrust. I grab her tiny waist tighter, going deeper into her, wriggling out more screams from her.

“Take it like the good girl you are.” I grit, swatting her reddened ass cheeks. “You love that? Hmm?”

“Mmm…hmmm…” she moans back, clenching the sheets as I double my pace. She grinds her ass on my d**k, exciting the f**k out of me and making me go even harder.

My hands wrap around her neck, tilting her face up and kissing her lips. Choking her and watching her eyes roll deliriously.

She starts shuddering as she gets closer to another orgasm. I fasten my pace, going harder until she's a squealing mess.

“f**k…I'm…cumming!!” her screams come with her massive orgasm, and she falls flat on the bed, f*****g drained.

I pull out, patting my d**k on her wet p***y, helping her cool off. Once she's calmer, she gets on her knees, flicking her hair eagerly and taking me swiftly into her mouth.

She gags as my full length hits the back of her mouth. Then her fingers, with their long, red nails, wrap around my shaft while her mouth expertly works its way over my shaft.

Her tongue explores the underside of my d**k, caressing my balls and making my head go haywire from the pleasure.

For a second, I get distracted as my mind travels again. To that masked girl. Blue eyes. It can't be HER. It shouldn't be. That will be one hell of a f****d up situation.

“Boss,”

I turn my head in that direction. Marcelo, my right-hand man, is standing at the doorway, ruining my fun.

The expressionless look on his face means business. As much as I want to go on with this, I should wrap it up quickly and go see what news he has for me.

“Be right there,” I say to him. He leaves, and I grab Bambi's hair, shoving my d**k harder into her mouth. Until I shoot my load deep into her throat.

I loosen my grip on her hair and let her breathe while she swallows my c*m and licks my d**k dry.

She falls back on the bed, exhausted. I put on a robe and leave the room. Marcelo’s waiting downstairs in the living room.

“I asked not to be disturbed,” I say briskly as I approach him.

"Sorry about that.” He bows. “But an auction will be taking place in one of Torricelli's properties in less than an hour. You should be on your way by now.”

The Torricelli family. The highest in the Mafia family hierarchy. The real bosses.

Killing off the other Mafia families is the only way to assume any position in this crime world. And I've been doing that.

Killing with no traces left, of course. It would be messy and start a bloody war if the other families found traces that led to me as the culprit.

But sure, they aren't exactly stupid. They're all probably suspecting that I have a hand in the deaths, judging from the fact that I always claim the properties of all my victims. But with no evidence, they can't openly accuse me.

I already killed off a lot of families, climbing all the way to the fourth spot in the Mafia hierarchy.

Nah, the third spot because I just put a f*****g bullet in Don Hunt Carianno's skull yesterday. I just ended the Cariannos' reign. So it's safe to say I now occupy the third spot.

The goal is to be on top of the Mafia hierarchy. To be the main boss. And to finally carry out my revenge on the Torrecilli family.

They're the bane of my existence; they're the reason I chose this dark world. They don't know that, though. They don't know that I became this monster, all f*****g thanks to them.

I try to control the intense loathing I feel when I'm around them. But here, within closed doors, I cuss them out so f*****g bad. For ruining my damn life. Soon, much sooner, I'm gonna have their heads.

They're gonna pay for what they did to me. And I'll have their position.

Until then, I'm staying bitter. And I'm not attending any Torrecilli event. That's one rule I can't ever break.

“I'm not going,” I say, spinning around to head back to my room.

“Boss…”

“What?” I turn irritably.

“You can't turn down this invitation.”

“Why not?”

“Don Torrecilli sent it personally. And it would be a blatant insult if you don't honor it.”

“I don't f*****g care if he crawled down here and handed over the invitation. I'm not going. You know how I feel about the Torrecillis. Don't push it.”

“Your absence won't go unnoticed. And with the recent death of Don Carianno, everyone's gonna have eyes on you, again. You gotta be out there and make them see how unbothered you are. So they don't suspect you.” Marcelo points out in a rush.

I groan in frustration as I grit my teeth, knowing he’s right. Still, I don't wanna be there. The Torrecillis make me f*****g sick. How else do I say it?

The door opens, and I spin around. Nico, my consigliere, walks in.

He's a man meeting his early 60s but looking every inch like a f*****g Don Juan with all that well-carved, grey beard, buff body, rich baritone, and a poise that screams wealth. The wealth of the De Luca family.

He's been by my side since I found this family. And he's the oldest. But in the Mafia world, age is just a f*****g number.

Hierarchy…now that's what matters.

“The boy is right,” Nico says. “You can't afford to piss off the Torrecilli family right now. Not when you just killed Hunt Carianno. Everyone has their eyes on you now, Vicious. You need to get your acts right.”

Marcelo gets a buzz on his phone and leaves. I remain standing, pissed to the bones. Nico's right. Marcelo's right. And I hate it. I hate that they're trying so hard to get me to attend that auction.

“Do it for the family,” Nico pats my shoulder.

Right. Do it for the family. Even if it kills me.

Marcelo returns with an alarmed look on his face. I wanna ask what's wrong, but he beats me to it, giving me a subtle signal that he doesn't wanna talk in front of Nico. It must be something really awful, then.

“Go check on the guys, Nico. They must have arrived with the packages. I need to know they got the right stuff.”

He nods and leaves. I wait till the door shuts before speaking.

“What is it?”

Marcelo hands me an envelope. I stare at him skeptically before taking it.

“What is this?” I ask, taking out the photos inside it. The first photo leaves me pale and ghostly frozen.

It really is her.

Two years ago, I took the risk of going down to Spain alone and blowing up the main house of the Ferrara family. With their boss, Don Ramos Ferrara, inside. Him. His higher-ups. His made men. His consigliere. His enforcers. All gone into flames.

It's the most explosive and ruthless kill I've ever done.

They were the fourth in the Mafia hierarchy. I needed to be in that position. Killing them was the only way to get there.

That night, I caught a stray bullet in my gut.

I was far from home. I came alone, and couldn't contact my Spain-made men as I didn't want the mess to be traced to them.

Deciding to handle the pain alone, I was running alone, drenched in the rain, and bleeding. I wound up in a slummy area, and that's when I saw her standing outside the door, radiating innocence.

The kinda innocence that gets a sick man like me aroused and hungry. The kind that messes with my head and forces me to my knees, begging to have a taste. A f*****g taste of her tight p***y.

They say darkness is alluring. But nothing is more alluring than innocence. Having the honor to be the one to taint it. That s**t gives men like me a mad ego boost and f***s hard with our heads.

I was bleeding and in mad pain, and she was right by my side, stirring up all the f*****g hormones in my body.

I got lucky enough to kiss her. Out of all the erotic s**t I wanted to do to her. Maybe I shouldn't have. Because that kiss is the reason I'm still very obsessed with finding her, even after a long two years.

Inviting her over to New York was a reckless move. But it was worth a try.

Over the years, I figured she didn't come. Marcelo never brings back any positive news about finding her here.

I couldn't go back to Spain to look for her. The remnants of the fallen Ferrara family are still feeling bitter and determined to find out who ruined them. Going back there was a stupid risk I couldn't take.

So I stayed here, praying she'd come to me. Two years gone, and it seems my prayers were dust.

But right now, staring at her picture, I can't help the mad sparks going off inside me. She did come, finally!

She got rid of her blonde hair — bummer! It's her best look; it makes her look every bit like an angel. But she's still just as pretty. And that innocent aura around her is still intact. I'd have gone crazy if any man had already tainted it.

I stare at the next photo and something clicks off in my head.

She's dressed exactly like the girl from last night. The girl who almost got killed by that sack of swine. The waitress with a mask.

No wonder I can't get her off my mind. No wonder those eyes sparkled as she stared at me. I just didn't have enough time to stick around and figure out who she is.

I should have killed her. There shouldn't be any traces. No witnesses. So yeah, I should have killed the girl. But she looked so terrified, and maybe it was those eyes…or maybe, my body could tell it was her. So I couldn't pull the trigger. Any other person, and I wouldn't have hesitated like that. I wouldn't have let them go.

But no harm done, right? I mean, the Carianno men at the door didn't see her face, right? She had a mask on. All I have to do now is find her and keep her out of their grip forever.

But then the last photos ruined that bit of positivity. She was strolling the streets of New York with Ferguson Carianno, the capo of the Carianno family.

He's one hell of a sneaky asshole who moves in disguise. He spends more time amongst commoners pretending to be one of them.

You have to be in the dirtiest part of our sinful world to know him, his twisted personality, and what amount of connection he's got.

“What the f**k is she doing with this snake?!” I snap, looking at Marcelo. Waiting for a damn explanation.

“Well, apparently, he owns the coffee shop where she works during the day. And he somehow pulled strings that got her working in their nightclub at night. He hangs around her with a fake identity.”

“Typical of him.” That bastard. “Do you have any idea what's gonna happen to her when he finds out she was in that room last night?”

The man I killed last night, Don Hunt Carianno, was Ferguson's uncle and boss. It's not rocket science that Ferguson will be combing the streets of New York right now, searching for the man who did his uncle in. Or someone who knows something about the killing.

Now seeing him with her…

“Wait, when was this photo taken?” I ask, just to be sure.

“This morning.”

Fuck. She's not safe. It's only a matter of time before he finds out that she knows something.

“We need to find her. Ferguson is gonna hurt her when he figures out that she witnessed the killing…

“He already has her.” Marcelo blurts out.

“What?”

“His men already captured her. She'll be at the auction ground. I'm not sure, but I think he's gonna auction her.”

“Son of a gun!” I hiss under my breath. I rake my hair furiously as my brain paints out the real picture for me.

Marcelo is wrong. She's not gonna be auctioned. They're gonna use her to get me.

No wonder I got the damn invitation. They're gonna torture her into admitting that she recognised me from last night. Ferguson is trying to pin the murder on me, and he intends to use her. He doesn't have any evidence of me being the murderer and he seems to wanna create one.

That twisted bastard!

“Tell the men to get ready. I'll be at auction, seated. While you lead them to go rescue her. I need her far away from that auction ground. Do you understand?"

“Yes, boss.”